Hyperagentic Baby Hitler Morality Optimisation Protocol (HaBHMOP)

I am become elite human capital

In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have brought up the Baby Hitlers. It felt like a good idea at the time but obviously my audience wasn't ready to hear something this, like, innovative. I mean, they're still not ready, they're still sitting in front of me and I'm still standing in front of them, but now I'm committed, like, committed to the truth, committed to seeing this through. Anyway, I'm developing some ideas here while I talk, while I extemporise, I'm uncovering some truths in a, like, Socratic way, you know? Building in public, being agentic, being high-IQ, like, elite, elite human capital IQ. Socrates was probably into elite human capital, and everyone freely acknowledges that he was pretty cool and that he himself was elite human capital, probably had a monster IQ, was probably in Mensa. And Socrates definitely talked at people about Baby Hitlers while getting drunk or having anal sex or killing himself to make an elite point and so in comparison I'm being pretty restrained. Or, like, if Socrates wasn't talking about Baby Hitler specifically, then the Athenian equivalent. I'm kinda guessing, but it's an informed guess.

So anyway I started things off respectfully enough, started things appropriately. That's because I read my audience and calibrated my presentation to their postures, their blank faces, their crossed arms, the fact that I was the only man in the room, like, I didn't want to scare any of the women here, didn't want to scare the twenty or so members of the Giving Team and all that. This kind of analysis isn't easy if you don't have a high EQ. A high IQ, a high EQ, that's me, and it feels unfair sometimes, being this gifted. I've got these high scores, these high numbers, these gifts, you know, I'm just so metrically gifted. Not that I've taken the official tests or anything, but I listen to a bunch of pretty agentic podcasts, really understand everything that's being said. Not just anyone could do that.

"Alright, ok, thanks everyone for, for attending this meeting," and I clapped my hands together, "I'm excited, you're excited— I mean, I hope you're excited," and I clapped my hands again, "for some innovation, for some charitable innovation," still going, still clapping my hands for effect, but that's just, like, the exoteric reading of clapping my hands together, the notion that I was doing it for dramatic effect. Esoteric? It was because I was nervous and I was nervous because I really don't like speaking in public, especially when I haven't prepared anything. And so I did a few more Straussian claps and then pointed to the blank whiteboard behind me. "No slides, no notes, just an idea, right? Just passion. You're going to love this, this is, this is a revolution right here, that's what this is, this is, uh—"

Raising expectations was probably the wrong approach, but I was panicking. I mean, not like panicking panicking, more like locking in, like getting in the zone, some pre-flight jitters or whatever. The main source of these jitters is that I was in a long room, still am, I'm still standing at the front of a long room along whose middle is a strip of meeting room tables pushed together, off-white particle board surfaces, maybe there's more like thirty or forty people seated here, it's hard to tell, someone clears their throat, metal Venetian blinds letting light through in slits.

"—this is big! I'm honoured you chose me, because, as everyone knows, I'm all about high-impact deliverables, right? I'm all about philanthropy, I'm all about making a difference, I'm all about, like, rationally optimising everything to get the most out of charitable donations, being effective, there's nothing I love more than being effective."

And it's not my fault. It's not like I want to be here, but nobody would accept my excuse. The Giving Team weren't getting enough volunteers for their new Innovative Giving Initiative. Like, nobody was signing up, nobody wanted to pitch blue sky, moonshot, move-fast-and-break-stuff solutions to the problem of, like, our whole organisation giving back to the community and all that.

"We like science, don't we!" And I pointed at a woman in the front row whose neutral-sour expression didn't change and so I just clapped a few more times, raised my voice. "Yeah, that's right! We like science here! And that's why, that's why I've decided to revolutionise the way we approach philanthropy."

So they changed to an opt-out model and, ok, maybe I don't check my emails regularly enough, but I can claim serious extenuating circumstances: as a result of a rite performed without adequate safety precautions, and I fully accept responsibility for this, ok, that one's on me, as a result of this rite I might have been temporarily possessed by a demon, or a spirit, or something. As such, I didn't exactly have the bandwidth to check my work emails and opt out of the Innovative Giving Initiative. So when I told them why I'd missed the opt-out deadline, and I was being sincere, polite, all of that, they asked me not to make inappropriate jokes and gave me a time, a date, a location, told me that I'd need to present my charitable proposals. And while I'd been lamenting all this internally I became aware, like, acutely aware of the fact that I was still standing in front of the entire Giving Team, that I hadn't said anything for, I don't know, maybe ten seconds, maybe more. The clarity of panic, my mind blank—

"Baby Hitler."

It just slipped out. This was a bit of a surprise to everyone. To me, to those people in the audience who gasped, those ones who raised their eyebrows and looked at their neighbours to make clear that they really, really didn't approve of Baby Hitler or any mention thereof, to the theatrically 'O' shaped mouths, the theatrically '—' shaped lips. And to be honest, I don't know why Hitler came into my head so, like, readily. Or, ok, maybe I'd been watching a lot of those Hyperborea edits, back when I was really into Evola, and some of those images are nestled in my mind now, maybe even in my unconscious, which makes sense actually. I mean, not the baby bit, but the Hitler part is explicable. So I've got these repressed Hitlers in my unconscious and they're bursting out in my speech and all that, you know, like Freudian slips, Hitler slips, and that's where the Baby Hitlers came from, this is a partial explanation. The baby part? That’s less clear. I mean, Freud was pretty into talking about babies, so maybe there’s a clue. Anyway, it's not like I can analyse or explain myself now, not in front of everyone.

So I pointed to someone whispering to her neighbour at the back of the room: "Would you kill Baby Hitler?"

And she just sits there with wide eyes, like, two white-blue-black bullseye circles, so I repeat myself, elaborate a little, raise my voice to be more assertive, more authoritative and to be a stabilising presence, a pillar of strength, you know? Maybe I scared her. I get it that Hitler can be distressing, and that I'm just, like, more intrepid than most when it comes to navigating, exploring, these sorts of things, things like Hitler, like alternate theories of World War II, like haplogroup deep-dives, like cryptozoology, those kinds of things. I'm not scared easily, is what I'm saying, so I was trying to be authoritative to calm her down, to make her feel safe and like she had a leader to look up to.

"Just, just think about it, ok? Baby Hitler, he's, he's growing up into a pretty bad guy, right? Like, a bad guy, you know, like, the Holocaust, right?And you've got the power to stop—"

And then she interrupts me, just speaks right over the top of me. She tells me that yes, yes she'd kill Baby Hitler if she got the chance. Or, if not her, because she's, like, obviously opposed to killing, killing is wrong, right, she wouldn't be willing to kill him, not personally, but she'd have him killed, if she had the option. If it came down to it. She'd agree for someone else to personally kill Baby Hitler.

And so I draw a baby on the whiteboard behind me, put a little moustache on it, you know, that moustache, and as I point at it I have an idea. Yes, yes, something that, if people could be open minded, they might love.

"Ok, ok, ok. Here's how we revolutionise our giving. It's like Jurassic Park, but for Hitler."

Maybe coming on a bit strong, I've got to remember to be really high-IQ, high-EQ and agentic, really agentic, to control my emotions, but it's hard sometimes. I just noticed that I'm not the only man in this room—there's one other guy, a member of the Giving Team, maybe their token male, male, inverted commas, 'male', and he's so obviously looking at the woman to his left, the woman to his right, the women across the table from him and his expressions of shock or disapproval trail theirs by a half-second or so. His pudgy face, his tiny chin, his prey eyes, his physiognomy is insulting, the fact that he's just copying the expressions of those around him, being completely unagentic, probably doing it because he reckons if he's inoffensive enough, nonthreatening enough, then someone on the Giving Team will have sex with him, give him a tiny crumb of pussy, begging for it like a dog under a dinner table, but anyway, seeing him has, like, activated me and I'm having a hard time not going all-out on this new idea of mine. Probably because this room is so oestrogenic. I'm trying to balance things. Ying, yang, testosterone karma or whatever, you know?

"So let me lay it out for you. Hitler: bad guy. Baby Hitler survives childhood because nobody has just, like, dealt with him and then you have, you have," and I quickly consult my phone for some figures, "estimates of total deaths during World War II ranging from seventy million to eighty-five million. That's a lot of deaths, right?"

The room is silent and I'm staring at his stupid face, at his rosy cheeks, cherubic cheeks, and reminding myself that I'm above it all, I don't care, I'm just here for the truth and if the Giving Team doesn't want to hear about a new way to give back to the community, to really make an impact, then that's on them.

"A lot of avoidable deaths, if only someone had killed Baby Hitler. And, ok, so here's where we come in. Jurassic Park. They get, like, dinosaur DNA from fossils or amber or whatever, and then they bring the dinosaurs back. Are you following me?"

And I say this to someone in the front row, point at her. Audience participation, this is how you give a memorable presentation. She just crosses her arms.

"Ok, so step one: we clone Hitler from Hitler DNA, I'm sure there's some of it lying around, there are plenty of people who are, like, really into, like, uh, military history, there's probably a hobbyist somewhere with, with— Anyway, that doesn't matter so much, these are all implementation details. The important thing is that we've just cloned Hitler, and now we've got Baby Hitler, just, like, a three-month-old Führer baby. Now," and I point at the woman who said she'd let someone else kill Baby Hitler, "we've got the possibility here, we've created the possibility, we're agents with agency, we're agentic," and I clapped really loudly to emphasise, like, how much I'm into agency and being agentic, clapped each of the syllables of a-gen-tic, and I see the people in the front row flinch slightly because I've got a pretty powerful frame, "we've engineered a scenario where we could save seventy to eighty-five million lives. And how?"

I'm still pointing at the I'd-let-someone-else-kill-Baby-Hitler woman. She doesn't say anything.

"Exactly. We just have to kill Baby Hitler. And, ok, just think about it. What's better than killing one Baby Hitler?"

And there's still silence from the crowd, lots of disapproving pursed lips, like, I'm sure a lesser man would feel cowed by all this passive aggression, because that's all it is, passive aggression because they're too cowardly to accept some uncomfortable but necessary truths, that our lives might be improved if we'd just implement my idea—

"Exactly! Two Baby Hitlers! Kill one Baby Hitler, one BH, henceforth a BH just so I don't have to keep saying 'Baby Hitler', one BH equals seventy to eighty-five million lives saved. Two BHs? One hundred and forty million to one hundred and seventy million lives saved! Ok, ok, let's just stick with the upper estimate, alright, let's be optimistic, this is blue sky thinking, we're aiming for the moon! And why stop at two? Let's just, like, assume that we can get a workflow happening, like, establish a Hitler-DNA-to-BH pipeline. Ok, ok, ok, ok, let's get excited!"

And I point at the one man in the audience. He looks around, makes sure everyone else is scowling and then sets his gelatinous lips into a snarl. I feel anger in my chest but I let it power me, fuel my ideas and agency.

"Let's assume that a fertilised Hitler egg isn't, you know, Hitler enough to threaten eighty-five million lives. He's got to be a, like, you know, proper baby. So, so we've got a bottleneck, we need our BH to be forty weeks old, let's say, I'm just doing some back-of-the-napkin calculations. So we're going to need to do this in parallel, parallel BH production if we want to hit some serious numbers in terms of giving back to the community. We've got, what, fifteen thousand people who work here? This is a big company, we're multinational, we're global! So, um, assuming that the makeup of the company is roughly represented by this room, that makes it, like, ninety, ninety-five percent female? So ninety-five percent of fifteen thousand is, is, uh…"

And I pause briefly, but I've been practising mental arithmetic, it's such a demonstration of intellectual superiority to just be able to churn out numbers like that and I'm doing my practised calculating face, eyes closed, eyebrows together.

"Fourteen thousand, two hundred and fifty. Fourteen thousand, two hundred and fifty wombs for donating to the community, the global community, for charity. Alright, so, so a show of hands. How many of you here are fertile?"

It's almost like these people don't actually care about making a high-impact difference, they won't participate at all in this presentation that they made me give—I didn't want to do this, but I'm here now and I'm giving it my best, if something's worth doing it's worth doing well, right? Anyway, they're all grumbling but nobody will be active, they're all being passive aggressive and unagentic and so I'm just going to keep going, I'm being powered, fuelled by this burning feeling in my throat and I think it's anger, I think I'm actually getting angry and so I've got to keep talking, channel this rage into something constructive. No, actually, no. It's not anger, I'm above that. It's a burning thirst for the truth, an unemotional passion for what's real.

"Fine, ok, so let's assume that eighty percent of you are fertile, and that you're all, like, a representative sample of this company. That means we've got, we've got eleven thousand, four hundred fertile employees to play with, employees who are passionate about giving back to the community. And maybe each cycle not everyone will be successful, I mean, the BH IVF won't be successful all the time, right, but IVF is pretty good now, good enough that after a few tries, I'm sure that everyone who can get pregnant with a BH will be pregnant. So, so every forty weeks, we can have eleven thousand, four hundred BHs born. And, and, and," and I actually start laughing, this is such a good idea, laughing as I write sums on the whiteboard beside my picture of Baby Hitler. I can't do these sums in my head, there are too many zeroes, and that's a good sign, more zeros means more impact, more leverage or something like that. "If each BH would have led to the deaths of eighty-five million people, then, then that's… Nine hundred and sixty-nine billion lives saved! After only forty weeks! And this could be a recurring thing, of course. Each year, another almost trillion lives saved! And all we'd need to do would be to kill those BHs."

And I see him, his voluminous cheeks flush with pleasure, delighting in mimicking the concern, the pretend disgust of those around him, shaking his head and the quiver of those bulbous cheeks is kinda getting to me as he frantically checks whether his neighbours still disapprove of me and - yep - they still do and so he keeps posturing outrage with his stupid receding hairline and his stupid patchy rust-brown beard, pretending to fit in and chasing the approval of the herd, of people who have no idea of what's necessary to rule and to make society work, people who've probably never heard of elite theory—

"And I'll kill them, I'll kill them myself!"

Everyone in the room jumps, a few shrieks, gasps, my knuckles are already aching, dents in the whiteboard catch ceiling lights in white droplet curves. I punched my Baby Hitler drawing, really emphasised my drive and commitment to charitable giving and I see him, his hands are over his mouth and, and are those tears creeping into his eyes? And it's too much, this guy is too much, too much—

"I'll fucking annihilate every Baby Hitler you put in front of me! You girls breed 'em, I'll tear them to pieces, I'll—" and here I punch the whiteboard between each word, breaking the skin over my knuckles and leaving blood blooms on the whiteboard. "Obliterate! Every! Single! Little! Baby! Hitler!"

My panting, really animal, really masculine, like, vital, my panting sounds kinda hollow in the ensuing silence. And then activity: someone is whispering something into their phone, someone else has started crying and her neighbour is saying something about, like, my upsetting conduct or violence or something, there's a lot of chatter in the room and so I put a stop to it. I stop my flock from panicking with some stern words, you know, like really steady the ship. I only just noticed that I'm shouting.

"You think we'd be causing problems by bringing all these BHs, all these, these— ok, ok, Benson and Hedges, let's call them Benson and Hedges," because I can see that all the Hitler talk is distressing some of the more fragile temperaments in the room and so I, and this is where my high EQ comes in, right, so I turn 'Baby Hitler' into something less threatening, turn it into 'Benson and Hedges', which is a pretty elite move, "you think someone else wouldn't bring these Benson and Hedges into the world? There's too much money at stake! Economics, people! It's an economic necessity, if we don't start mass producing Benson and Hedges, then someone else will, someone else who doesn't share our commitment to the community and to, to giving back."

And someone starts to disagree, like, really shrill, she starts asking me what could possibly be the economic incentive here, and so I just unload some truth on her.

"Yeah, well, this mightn't be obvious if your IQ is below a certain threshold, so just, just," and she's still trying to talk, the people around her are backing her up but I'm too masculine, too focused on my goal and and I’m a bulldozer and so I get louder, "just listen! We pull this off, we save the world, we get financially rewarded! You've got carbon offsets, right? Well how about mortality offsets? How about morality offsets? We're saving so many lives, we could, we could, like, sell some of these lives saved to, I mean, to whomever! Alright, imagine that you've got a leader, monstrous IQ," and I slap myself on the chest, "he knows what his country needs but it's an omelette, right? I mean, the solution's going to involve an omelette, like, a figurative omelette. It's going to involve some eggs being broken. We could balance the books! We could sell him enough lives saved so that he's breaking even, morally speaking, after all the omelette making, after he's cleaned up the streets, after he's restored public decency, after he’s sorted out the debt, after he's imposed a high-trust society, all that, we can help him balance things out. Maybe some people die when he takes his stern, like, realpolitik actions, ok, but he can offset those deaths by buying our lives saved through the Benson and Hedges program! Or he could even buy enough lives saved to make a surplus! And, and how much do you think he should pay for a life. How much is a human life saved worth?"

And I point at the woman talking on her phone and she pretends not to hear me and so I just ask her again more persuasively, my voice cracking from all the high-volume persuasion. She begins saying something unagentic and uncharitable and so I just shout a figure over her small-minded whining: "A million dollars! Sounds good to me! And, ok, if we're producing nine hundred and sixty nine billion Baby H— Benson and Hedges, Benson and Hedges, each year, then that's a potential for nine hundred and sixty-nine quadrillion dollars gross annual income, just from our charitable program!"

Consternation, this is all obviously too much for the Giving Team, they're standing up, they're shouting, just, like, parochial and irrational objections to my scheme, and so I counter with a pretty potent thought experiment. I grab the Head of Giving by the shoulders and deliver this thought experiment with a whole lot of steel, moxie, masculinity, logic.

"Would you get pregnant to save eighty-five million lives?"

Anyway she's trying to tell me that this is a ridiculous thing to ask and so I just keep repeating the question and, like, shaking her a tiny bit. It's a clear question and I think there's a really clear answer to it, there's only one moral answer to it and anyone who thinks otherwise is, like, ipso facto or whatever not only low-IQ, not only low-EQ, but low-MQ, morality quotient, I just came up with that one then from first principles, like, first logico-rational principles, and I bet my MQ is also colossally high, top tiny fraction of one percent. I tell the Head of Giving as much, I tell her that if the lives of eighty-five million people aren't worth as much to her as forty weeks of not being pregnant, then I guess she's got a lot of thinking to do.

"How dare you!" I shout to the room over my shoulder as I leave. "How dare you!" The door slams behind me.

Relief spreads through my chest. Exhale, smile. Not only have I delivered an impromptu presentation, not only have I devised a remarkable moneymaker for my employer, but I've demonstrated my superiority. My intellectual, emotional and moral superiority. When you're good, you're good. I receive an email from HR, probably congratulating me. And I reckon this is how Socrates felt after a good symposium, being really impressed with himself, feeling that sorrow of great agentic men who know that, no matter how good they are and no matter what they manage to achieve, they can never enjoy a presentation given by themselves, they will never know this bracing pleasure—that’s what I’m feeling right now, the sorrow of the great, the elation of the great. But no matter. Greatness is my burden to bear. I bask in my elite nature.

Want more of Jack’s writing? Find his novel here!